I met Angie at Zumbro the morning after I arrived back in Minneapolis this past June and the first thing she said to me was, “I love how you’re always wearing the same thing”. I had on a black linen v-neck that was about to get a hole along the back shoulder seam, a pair of green Dickies that I bought during our first lockdown of 2020 and never quite fit, and running shoes that I’d had for the better part of a decade and fully intended to trash and replace with a pair of Tevas on my 3-week tour of Minnesota. It’s true, I have a tendency to hold onto things – not just clothing – for a long time, sometimes long past the time they stop serving me, and in that moment, in the shade of the porch and with the smell of fresh coffee and roast potatoes hanging in the air, I felt it in my bones that my look, my vibe, my entire life was tired.
Though it wasn’t at all meant in a negative way, her words distilled what I’d been feeling for so long: stagnant. I was wearing the clothes and stuck in the habits of someone I wanted to outgrow. My routine, my job, my wardrobe, my flat - all of it had been more-or-less the same since my mid-twenties and there I was, feeling the crosshairs of 40 aimed directly at my forehead and wishing with all my heart that Julie Andrews, the Queen of Genovia herself, would walk through the screen door, tell me I was destined for so much more, and then give me a makeover and some strict house training so I could finally live up to my potential (fact about me: I respond very well to loving bullying and extremely high expectations). I wanted someone with authority (or anyone, really) to tell me what I already knew but was afraid to say out loud: that I really needed to stop drinking.
A sober Minnesotan friend casually mentioned the book This Naked Mind by Annie Grace when we met at Marty’s for breakfast sandwiches later that week, and I circled-back with her and stored the title away in my phone. I ordered it the Saturday after I got home to the UK, while nursing a minor hangover at my step-granddaughter’s fourth birthday party. I watched a group of three extremely small girls tear apart a giant puzzle-piece play mat, throwing each enormous piece into a pile like trash into a bonfire and shrieking with delight at their own destruction while I clicked through the checkout and selected next-day delivery. These girls weren’t afraid of ripping things up and burning them down, and finally, in that moment, neither was I. In fact, I’d been fantasising about it for ages. I declined the sparkling wine that was being poured for the adults and felt a wave of relief wash over me as I came to terms with my decision - the alcohol from the night before wasn’t out of my bloodstream yet, but mentally I was already free.
I spent the next two months reading, journaling, and working to disassemble the foundation of my own life, starting with the planks of the all-too-familiar floorboards: the post-work glass of wine, then the cooking wine, then the after-dinner wine, and then all the drinks that came after that. I threw these old habits into a pile and struck a match. I shrieked with joy every morning when I woke up clear-headed, optimistic, early. I spent so many hours in awe, proudly admiring my renovation work.
The best way I can put it is this: Being alcohol-free allows me to be the person I want to be more of the time, and I’ve spent these past two months getting to know this person better. Does she still want the same things that I thought I wanted or, even worse, settled for when I was drinking? How does she like to dress? What time does she go to bed and how early does she wake up? (So early!) Does she still like cooking? I was relieved to learn that who I am at my core hasn’t changed much, but being AF has resurrected an optimism and hopefulness that I thought I’d lost a long time ago. My ambition has returned and I don’t waste time beating myself up for the late nights, the money spent, for always overdoing it. As a regular journaler and an absolute freak who diligently keeps a spreadsheet to track my mood, menstrual cycle, and alcohol intake, I have evidence that sobriety has made my life better in every measurable way. I told friends when I started that I wanted to try this alcohol-free thing for 100 days, but here I am on day 65 and I’m telling you: I’m not going back. Mentally, physically, and emotionally I can’t go back to the way I was.
There’s this John Mayer (problematic fave & self-professed sober person) bridge that I think about all the time from his song New Deep on the album Heavier Things, which somehow came out 20 years ago this week1. It goes:
I'm a new man
I wear a new cologne and
You wouldn't know me if your eyes were closed
I know what you'll say
"This won't last longer than the rest of the day"
But you're wrong this time
You're wrong
After so many years of failed attempts and wishful thinking - maybe I can be someone who only drinks on the weekend! or I’ll cut myself off after two glasses. - after so many years of letting myself down, I’m finally proving myself wrong this time. In so many ways I feel like a new woman2 and though I haven’t changed my signature scent, you can actually smell it now that it’s not obscured by my hot wine breath or the stink of yesterday’s alcohol coming through my pores. And just like my signature fragrance, the future is rosy.
Anyway, all this to say that in this resurrected version of Kate Things, I’ll probably write a lot about being alcohol-free/California sober. After almost 15 years of more-or-less daily drinking and somewhere around 6,615 bottles of wine3, choosing to stop has been a big change in my life, one that I think deeply about and am thankful for every day. While I wish I’d come around to quitting sooner, I also recognise that I wasn’t ready until I was. I’ve always needed time to marinate in my big decision-making and instead of beating myself up over the past (and all the fantastic friends and fun memories I made while drinking, which I will cherish forever!), I’m instead focusing on living my life to my fullest going forward. That doesn’t mean jumping out of airplanes and travelling the world, but rather treading lightly on this beautiful planet, taking moments to be present and savour the joy and beauty around me, going to bed early, and sitting in my butt hole on this worn out corduroy sofa and trying to share some of what’s in my head with all of you here. 🖤
On that note, one thing that has not improved with my alcohol-free lifestyle are my period cramps. Period cramps, and all the horror they bring with them, are genuinely like days-long hangovers and as someone who never wants to be hungover again, I resent this very much. To commemorate this horrible 27-day cycle, I wanted to introduce something I’m calling Period Cramp Karma in which I cosmically transfer my cramps to someone who probably doesn’t get period cramps but deserves them.
What kind of witchcraft is this, you wonder? Well, last time I wrote to you I complained about my neighbour’s never-ending alarm clock and then two days later he moved out, so I’m hedging my bets and hoping that the same magic can be applied here. In the same tone as Rita Repulsa (great name) shrieking (clearly this is my word of the day) “MAKE MY MONSTER GROW” in Power Rangers, I would like you to say along with me, “GIVE FILL-IN-THE-BLANK MY CRAMPS” on the count of three. This month, we’re filling in the blank with: Novak Djokovic. Ready? 1-2-3…
GIVE NOVAK DJOKOVIC MY CRAMPS!
Why Novak? Go ahead, call me a bad sport, but I’m sooooo tired of seeing this guy win. Yes, he’s a great tennis player – the greatest tennis player ever, according to the stats - but I don’t think he’s the full package4. His level of fitness and skill for the game is incredible, of course, and I really commend him for performing at this level, especially while maintaining a plant-based diet, but everything else about him gives me the ick. I don’t find him particularly genuine, I think many of his business dealings are sketchyyyy, his woo-woo health schtick is irritating (ugh, the ToaPatch 🙄), and his past comments about the women’s game – despite rolling them back – were offensive. I don’t know what deal with the devil Novak signed to be such an impenetrable force in tennis at his (my! our!) age, but I’d like to see him play with these (👉 points directly at my uterus 👈) period cramps. Cramps so bad that he feels like a big orange pumpkin that’s being scooped out from the inside and then carved into a jack-o-lantern by a not-particularly-skilled child. Cramps so bad that he doesn’t know if he needs to puke or shit. Cramps so bad that every single hair (and there are so many of them!) on his body stands at attention while he bends over in pain. Yes, this month, at the start of the second week of the US Open, I am sending my period cramps to the number 2 seed of the men’s draw, Novak Djokovic. If he can win with these cramps then, and only then, I will recognise him as the greatest of all time. Or whatever.
Now it’s your turn. Ladies, tell me: who would you send your period cramps to? Nobody is off limits! Sound off in the comments or my DMs. ⚡️
This next week-ish, I’ll be re-opening my Kate Things print shop, starting the Mission Impossible franchise for the very first time, and trying to find a flat to move into that doesn’t cost ££££££ or make my soul want to leave my body. (If you know of any beautiful, sun-filled 2+ bed flats/homes in Tunbridge Wells that are available for rent please hmu.) See you next time!
Excuse me?!!?!?! Am I really meant to believe that I have been thinking about this song for T W E N T Y years?! How is that even possible????
I went to the gym at 8AM this morning! I’ve started lifting weights!! I go to bed before 11PM. I wake up at, like, 7!!! I haven’t had a craving for Marmite in ages. I didn’t even buy Doritos last week!!
A conservative estimate.
Yes, you caught me! I was a big time Federer girlie. Roger is my one true tennis king!
My brilliant friend this period karma idea is AMAZING! I'm thinking on it as we speak. I feel like David Foster always deserves it. Prince Andrew is another one. Oh and whoever Keke Palmer's ex was that made comments about what is appropriate for her to post on IG. Drag him Keke!